My Christmas in France

(picture: la buche de Noel: traditional French Christmas cake in the shape of a log, hence the name.)

This year Christmas was very random and anti-climatic. There wasn't any anticipation like usual, besides the Christmas lights in Hagondange and Metz. No listening to Christmas music or buying presents or decorating my apartment. I didn't have the usual Christmas preparation time (between finals at school and the actual day). No Christmas cookies, fiber optic trees, parties or CAKE Town Christmas ornaments. I had my last English class (I played Christmas music and we went through the lyrics. The kids were not impressed.) and suddenly it was December 21st.

All the assistants went home except for Corinne and me. She made the long trek to Hagondange on Christmas Eve. We made dinner and watched movies and drank some wine. We spent Christmas day in our pj’s. We watched lots of random French television and made a traditional Christmas dinner that evening. During dinner Corinne said that this was the most random Christmas she's ever had (small town in France in the most outdated kitchen ever with someone she's only met a few times sans Christmas tree). The same was true for me. This was my first Christmas away from home, my family and our annual traditions.

My family does the exact same thing for Christmas every year—and I love it. Life can get dull and become routine, but the routines provide you comfort and make you smile. I can always count on my dog to be very excited to see me when I come home. I can always count on finding Golden Grahams in my parents' pantry. I can always count on my cousin Andrew to go fishing with me and on my grandma to make me laugh. Without the routine life would be dull, boring and lonely. I really missed Christmas, but if I hadn't, I wouldn't know how important that routine is to me. I also learned to make the best of what you do have. I might have spent Christmas in my pajamas with "The Scooby Doo Movie" dubbed in French, but I had a good day.

Thanksgiving in France

Most days I wake up in France and I am happy to be here, but there are few moments when I get homesick. These are special occasions at home that I miss: birthdays, trips to Miami, weddings and holidays. Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, has come and passed. It was difficult to be away from home and all the familiar traditions, but I had a celebration that was quite appropriate for the occasion.

Some friends and I planned out a meal. We decided to hold it at my apartment on Friday because we all had to work on Thursday and no one had seen my apartment yet (this is what happens when you live in a sleepy little town sans young people). We knew that some things we would not be able to find, like an entire turkey, or an oven to bake it in for that matter, but we would do our best.

I woke up Friday morning, went to my classes, took a shower and started preparing for Thanksgiving. I washed and snapped all the green beans and washed and peeled all the potatoes. I managed to find five place settings in my random collection of dishes and rearranged the furniture in my living room so a table would fit. A few hours before everyone was due to arrive I started cooking the food. Because I only have a hot plate with two burners and one very small pot, I had to boil the potatoes in shifts. This was the most ridiculous production to watch. Halfway through my potato cooking, I glance in the direction of my hot plate and notice that the power light is no longer on. People were due to arrive in 20 minutes and my potatoes weren't done and my hot plate wasn't working. I went into panic mode.

I fiddled with the hot plate and realized that the sensor light was broken, but the burners were still working. One catastrophe diverted, but nothing was ready and people were showing up to cook their food so we could eat and catch a train into Metz for a Thanksgiving-themed party. Everyone arrived and did their part to transform my oddly-decorated apartment and ill-equipped kitchen into a fit place for a feast. Lee Anne saved my potatoes and everyone helped carry the table into the living room. We set up a buffet on the side bar and had a feast fit for a king. We ate mashed potatoes, turkey fillets, stuffing, green beans, carrot puree (instead of sweet potatoes) and apple pie that was baked in a toaster oven. As I sat down to eat I wasn't homesick, but happy to be where I was.

Tous Saints Holiday

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Who "they" refers to, I'm not quite sure, but I'll go with it. It makes recounting my eight-day adventure in Spain much easier.

Highlights from the trip:

1. Random Italian guys on the beach in matching swim trunks
2. Bonding time with Lee Anne and Liz
3. Liz's inappropriate comments after she's had a few too many cocktails
4. A heated discussion about hunting season in Missouri
5. Kapital Club. Lots of dancing, lots of floors.
6. Being annoying tourists, i.e. not knowing the language and exploding coke cans in restaurants.
7. Guernica and lots of other amazing pieces of art
8. "Sometimes you just have to do irresponsible things." -Lee Anne
9. Warm weather, beach time and lots of sun
10. Speaking a combination of three different languages to order food in Tarragona

I love France

I was coming home from game night (at a bar in Metz) and it dawned on me how much I love it here. It would be very hard, but very easy to just stay here. I can sense already how much I'm going to miss this place come April. I complain about slow paperwork, but everyday I am becoming accustomed and growing fonder of the French lifestyle. Things don't get done quickly, but living one's life is the main priority in France. I love it. I love the language, the culture, the architecture, the fashion, French politics, the EU, the history and the international flair. The more I talk with French people, the more I want to improve my French. I have a growing desire to learn more languages. Why don't I speak German or Spanish? Next week I'm going to Spain for nine days. It's going to be great and it's only a short (and cheap) plane ride away. I love this lifestyle.

The French love their lifestyle too, and are worried that Sarkozy is threatening it. He's changed their 35 hour workweek to 40 hours. The American in me says, "big deal, I worked 50 plus hours a week this summer," but to the French they see it as five more hours away from their families and much-valued leisure time. He's also taking a very economic perspective on all issues, which the French don't understand. In France it's not about turning over the highest profit. (In no other country would a taxi driver refuse to drive a paying customer a short distance because it inconvenienced the driver.)

An immigration bill just passed through in France that requires DNA testing for those who want to join family already living in France. It is being contested by the socialists and is undergoing constitutional review, but what a scary thought. The French, despite their past problems with immigration, value the sanctity of family. They don't see the need to have the most economically profitable ratio of immigrants. And neither do I.

Un petit cadeau

The sweetest thing happened in class today. I was giving a lesson about Halloween in America to a room full of eleven year olds. They were very interested in everything I said, despite the fact that they have a hard time understanding my accent. The teacher asked me to explain trick-or-treating to them in French because it would be too difficult for them to understand in English (this is their first year of English, they are practicing their numbers and days of the week). There were gasps of excitement when I started speaking. They were so amazed that I could speak their language. My explanation was riddled with mistakes, but they were so pleased that I put forth the effort and wasn't embarrassed to speak in front of them.

I really enjoyed this class, but the sweetest moment came after the bell had rung. I stayed behind to talk to the teacher as the kids filed out. As I was waiting for her, one student came up and handed me a paper skeleton held together with small gold brads. She didn't say a word, just handed me the gift and went to catch up with her friends who were waiting in the doorway. I was so touched. Despite the age gap and language/cultural barrier, she decided she liked me in the time span of an hour. At that moment I felt very welcomed and appreciated and liked. And they say one person can't make a difference.

I'm a teacher

After several weeks of anticipation, this week was my first time having students on my own. It's fun! I got to write on the chalkboard and everything! The teacher split the class into two groups and I worked with each group for half an hour. We did an activity where they had to guess which classmate was being described. They did well, especially since everything was in English. The fist two groups were well behaved, but the second class was not. I was very firm with them, but they've reached the age where they're too cool to learn. They are behind their peers on the same level of English. Because it's harder for them to understand they have less motivation to try. It's very sad and I'm not sure how to deal with them. I kept telling them to stop talking, but everything was funny to them. I think they feel awkward speaking English in front of me.

Many of the teachers yell at the class to command their attention. This works, but their spirits are crushed. One of the English teachers commands her classes so well, I don't know how she does it, but I've got to learn. She rarely raises her voice and stops mischief in an instant. The most remarkable part of her method is that her students are still so curious to learn and are never discouraged. When I ask other classes if they have any questions for me few students raise their hands. When I ask this teacher's classes for questions, 30 hands shoot into the air. It's so much fun with them. When they were getting to know me they couldn't contain their excitement to ask me their questions. And they were thrilled to know how I celebrated Halloween and filled with laughter when they learned that I dressed up as an Oompa Loompa one year. The teacher says that they always ask when I'm coming back. So adorable. I can't wait until I get to make my own lesson plans.

Getting to know the French

Over the past three weeks everyone has been getting to know me. Very well, in fact. After interviewing over a dozen English classes they all know my name, how old I am, where I'm from, how many siblings I have and their corresponding names and ages, my parents' names and ages and what they do for a living. They know I have a two-year-old Bassett hound named Lola, that I want to work in public relations, that I do not have a boyfriend or husband, and that I do not personally know P. Diddy.

After three weeks of settling in, I'm getting to know all about them too, and making friends. I've become friends with the surveillants. I stop by their office often just to chat and goof around. They are the only French people that really get me because so much of my personality is lost in translation. They take the time to listen and help me with my French as well. We also speak in English on occasion because they are eager to learn American phrases and expressions. Last Saturday afternoon I ate lunch with two of the surveillants, Damien and Jesus. It was a great time. We were joking around and scribbling vocabulary words on the paper placemats at the restaurant, a Euro version of Applebee’s.

On the drive home we passed the park and there were about 50 people standing around. I asked what they were doing and Damien explained that they were playing la petanque, a game similar to bachi ball in the states. The word badonkadonk instantly popped into my head (because of the similar sound) and just as quickly rushed out of my mouth. Damien and Jesus simultaneously said, "Badonka quoi?" I explained what badonkadonk meant and the context in which it is used, but it was too late. I've created a monster. Jesus says badonkadonk practically every other word now, but he can never remember it in its entirety. It usually comes out "badonbang" or "badonkatan" or something of the likes.

To fill one of my free evenings, I've started going to aerobics class with Jenny, another surveillant. She teaches the class and drives me to and from. Besides some physical activity, this gives me the chance to converse in French for 20 minutes each way. I pick up some great vocabulary from Jenny, but it is more difficult to communicate with her because she is so intelligent. She is so articulate in French that it is hard for her to explain things in simple terms to me without loosing a lot of the meaning. Either way, I enjoy her company very much. On my first trip to aerobics class, she called the participants debutantes. I found this to be rather funny, but true because most of the class is middle-aged women and their teenage daughters.

I was a bit worried because Jesus told me Jenny's class is very difficult; one had to be crazy to go. I'm not the most coordinated of persons, but I thought I would give aerobics a shot, plus I didn't have anything better to do Tuesday night. I showed up ready to sweat in mesh gym shorts and a tshirt. I had my A game on, but as I looked around the room at the plastic blocks and miniscule bottles of water, I noticed that all the women were wearing matching spandex ensembles and lots of jewelry. One girl had some serious D&C bling around her neck, each letter the size of a half-dollar.

The class lasted about an hour and was extremely easy. I was able to keep up with all the routines, which included some very feminine dance moves and lots of breaks. Now I'm not Miss athletic, but I wasn't tired at all. The other women were exhausted after a ten minute routine and a few ran to the mirror on the front wall of the room to check their hair. It was such a different experience than any exercise class that I've attended in the states. On the way home Jenny explained that exercising to stay fit is a new concept in France, due in part to a national "eat right and exercise" campaign launched by the government. More and more aerobics classes are popping up across France, but French women are used to staying skinny by walking a lot and always being on a diet. Another piece of interesting information: France is second only to the US for the most consumption of fast food in the world.

To fill up my afternoons I read in the park when the weather is nice. The park is senior citizen central. The first time I went I received lots of strange looks from the regulars. Despite the awkward glances I haphazardly sat down on a bench and began to read. I must have been sitting on an already-claimed bench or something because the old folk seemed inconvenienced by my occupation of a bench. They sat on benches that were 15 feet apart and shouted greetings and conversations about the weather and their grandchildren across the park.

After several days of wondering, curiosity got the best of one elderly man. I was deep into my book and didn't hear him walk up to my bench. Suddenly he started speaking loudly in French, which startled me. Once I realized he was talking to me I began to answer his questions. He asked what I was doing in Hagondange, where I was from and if I was married. I explained that I was the English assistant au college, that I was American and that, no, I was not married. We chatted awkwardly for a few minutes about the book I was reading and then he went to the bench across the path and sat down. Shortly after our conversation he was joined by three female companions of the same age. They began to chat quietly. I knew they were talking about me because I could hear them and every time I looked up from my book they were looking at me. An hour later I left for my afternoon class and when I got up I waved goodbye and was greeted with four smiling faces and four waves right in a row. I guess they've forgiven me for taking their bench.

I had a similar encounter with an older woman at the lavomatique. I was waiting for my small load of laundry that cost 3.80 when she came barreling into the room. She had a laundry basket that was larger than her and the door. I held the door open for her while she pushed it through. She thanked me by saying, "Merci mademoiselle. Pas encore une madame?" We chatted for a few minutes after that and then I took my laundry home. By April I'm going to be friends with all the retired persons in Hagondange.

I've also befriended the guys at Kebab Royal. After finding out I'm American, one gentleman was very pleased to declare he was visiting his cousin in NY. I told them I'd never visited, and like many others, they didn't understand how that was possible. Europeans forget how large the US is. I explained that I lived in the middle of the country, which passed as a reasonable explanation. I continued to chat with them while they prepared my food. They were very nice and made sure that I had plenty of napkins and a tiny fork in addition to my delicious kebab. I also have a punch card now, so once I eat ten kebabs I get the eleventh free. I'm sure this will happen by Christmas because I love kebabs and the two guys at the shop are the two people in Hagondange closest to my age.

Life is so much better, and more entertaining when you have friends.

Living in rural France

Hagondange is a very interesting town. There are 11,000 citizens and not one of them is between the ages of 21 and 30. You can walk from one end of the town to the other in 15 minutes, yet everyone drives. There are not daily fruit markets or an abundance of recycling bins. The streets are not usually filled with people. This is very different from the Europe I thought I knew.

Besides lacking young people, Hagondange also lacks things to do. There isn't a movie theater or bowling alley. There are a few pubs, but they are all filled with old men (seriously no women except the waitress. I accidentally walked into one.). There are a few restaurants, but they are usually empty. Interestingly enough there are five places to buy eyeglasses and about 12 banks.

Because there isn't much to do in Hagondange, I have resorted to visiting Metz quite often. In Metz (Mez, as the French say it) there are plenty of places to eat, movies to see, places to shop. I even stumbled across an antique shop that I plan to visit again. A few days ago I had language assistant orientation in Metz. I met the other assistants who are also placed in other small, rural towns in the area. Hopefully some of these people will turn in to my friends and travel buddies.

Despite my complaints, living in Hagondange does have its perks. It takes me four minutes to get to work. Very nice when I have a class at 8 am. There are two kebab places and a beautiful city park. Also I am 1.5 hours away from Paris, an hour away from Strasbourg and 30 minutes away from Belgium, Luxembourg and Germany. C'est la vie, n'est-pas?

French schools are crazy

My first week of school taught me that French schools are very different from American schools. Students have school Monday through Friday 8-5. The bell rings at 8 am, signaling the students to line up for their classes and for teachers to collect their pupils. The students and teachers then make their way into the building to their classrooms. After the students get situated in their seats and the teacher takes attendance, 10 minutes are already lost. Then the bell rings 10 minutes before the class is slated to end. This is time for the students to write down their homework, gather their things and go to their next class.

There are also random coffee breaks throughout the day. My schedule said I had a class at 10 am, but when I arrived at the classroom at 9:50, it was completely empty. I checked the teachers' work room and everyone was standing about drinking coffee and chatting. Class at 10 doesn't really start until 10:05, when the teachers head down to the playground to collect their students. Very confusing for a new person whose own cultrue places much value on time and schedules.

There are also positions in French middle schools (France is the only country these are found) called Surveillants. Their job is to collect attendance, write in the students' behavior booklets, walk students to the neighboring high school to eat in the cafeteria and supervise students if they have been sent out of class or superivse an entire class if their teacher is absent.

At the beginning of each class students are not allowed to sit down until given premission from the teacher to do so. Also, at any point during class, if another teacher or surveillant walks into the classroom, they must again stand and not sit until given permission. I find the increased respect for teachers very important, but all the standing can be very disruptive to learning.

Despite the cultural practices in the school that I am not familiar with, things are going well. Overall the students are well behaved and eager to speak English with me. They are very curious about me as well. The first few days I walked the halls I would hear whispers about the new language assistant. And when I work with a class for the first time there is always chatter amongst the students about me. I find it very funny when there are excited whispers after the students find out I'm American. These whispers are usually followed by questions like, "Do you know 50 Cent?"

I am looking forward to creating my own lesson plans, working with the students on my own and teaching them to make the "th" sound.

Hagondange

My arrival in Hagondange put many of my worries at ease. The principle of my school met me at the train station and drove me from Metz (a larger city in the region, 15km away) to Hagondange. M. Albrech doesn't speak much English and my French is still quite rusty, but we managed to have a pleasant conversation none the less. Metz is absolutely beautiful and Hagondange has its bits of charm.

Lorraine is much different than the south of France. There are buildings that are old, but much of the architecture was destroyed during the war and had to be rebuilt. It is an interesting mix of several different styles. Everything is very green still, despite the lower temperatures, because of all the rain the region gets. Just in the past few days have the leaves on the tree outside my bedroom window started to change colors.

When we arrived in Hagondange about 20 minutes after our departure from Metz, I was introduced to all the teachers and faculty at the school. The school building has three floors, all very rectangular, and is that great pink color from the 1970s. There are four English teachers, all very nice, one a little crazy. The other faculty members are also very nice, but I don't interact with them as much, just a casual bonjour in the hall.

After meeting everyone and forgetting their names, I was shown the apartment that is mine for the next seven months. I really can't complain because I am staying for free, minus the cost of food and a monthly rotation of sweeping the hall steps. I was excited to see how spacious it is. There are two bedrooms, although the second one is completely empty. The furniture was purchased around the same time the buildings were built, but it works. There are just a few oddities about the apartment that I find rather humerous.

I have the most random collection of dishes. I have a complete set of eight wine glasses but only one bowl. I have an abundance of forks but hardly any knives. I do have several rather knives that would only be used to cut some serious meat, but I do not have an oven in which to cook such meat. Also the shower is a bit problematic. I was happy to have an actual shower that I can stand in, unlike when I studied in Aix, but it is rather leaky. The shower door does not extend the full length of the tub, so water can escape through the last two feet of unprotected space. Also there is a gap about an inch wide between the bottom of the shower door and and the tub's rim, which water always leaks from. After my first shower I was practically swimming in the bathroom! I found some duct tape in the apartment and went to work closing the space. It has helped quite a bit.

Despite the oddities and the incredibly small bed, I was happy to settle into a place that I could call home.

Paris

Paris, as always, is absolutely beautiful. Walking around the city I am reminded why I so desperately wanted to return to Europe. Everything is different, people, buildings, even sounds and smells.

On my first day I see the touristy things, the ones I've visited previously. I go to Musee D'Orsay and feel like an experienced Parisian as I walk through a temporary photography exhibit, taking my time because I have been through the museum before. The Louvre commands as much awe as before but the Eiffel Tower is not as magical on a rainy day as it was on the December night when I caught my first glimpse.

The second day I venture out into the heart of Paris, I promise myself I will see new things. I go to Des Invalides, the French war museum/hospital that showcases Napoleon's tomb. The tomb is quite grand, but a lot of the museum is under contstruction, so I am unable to see the majority of Napoleon's artifacts. I also walk to see Les Grand et Petit Palais. Both buildings were built for the world's fair in 1900. They are closed, but it is quite nice to see the exteriors.

After walking the streets a bit more I return to my hostel to pack my things and prepare for my first train ride in two years. I eat dinner at a small cafe in Monmartre called Froggy's, which is playing really loud Latin-styled music. I do not mind because I am alone and it seems to take the edge off the awkwardness of doing a social activity, eating, alone.

The next morning before I catch my train, I visit Sacre-Coeur, the cathedral in Monmartre. Its beauty was worth the hike up the hill to see it. From the top of the hill there is a beautiful view of the city. At last, I descend the hill to fetch my large amount of luggage and to hail a taxi to La Gare de l'Est.

Arrival in France

I made it to Paris ok. The international flight was too short (who, in God's name ever says this, I know). It wasn't a night's sleep but a really crappy nap. I had a bit of a custody battle with the couple sitting next to me over the empty seat between us. We ended up sharing the space, but I was glad to not have someone three inches away from me for eight hours none the less. I arrived in Paris at 7:45 this morning. It's like the longest day of my life. I was just able to check into my room, so I'm planning on taking a shower and going to dinner to make myself stay awake until a "normal" bedtime.

I'm not as disorientated as the last time I flew to Europe, but I'm really tired and feel rather isolated, as I do not know anyone yet. I'm going to try to connect with some other assistants that might be in Paris. I haven't met anyone at the hostel to hang out with yet, but walking around the city by myself won't be too bad.